


how many colors are you in one?

by fazerdaze



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Friends, Confessions, DOMESTIC GAYS, Dorks in Love, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, Nothing Hurts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and cats, artist minho, cozy bros, hot chocolates and cinnamon rolls because... autumn, jisung is oblivious, kinda domestic, minho is whipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fazerdaze/pseuds/fazerdaze
Summary: Listen. For the entire 8 years of journey of painting in Minho’s life, he did not have a muse. An official muse, at least. He had always relied on the pictures on the internet of his favorite artists. Sometimes, he had drawn his favorite idols or fictional characters for references, but he did not have a person who was willing to be his official muse. Exclusive only for him.He won’t admit it, but sometimes (often times) when he is painting, his mind always drifts to an image of a boy with chubby cheeks, round and curious eyes, fluffy hair, crooked teeth, and a body so divine that he did not have a choice but to worship him.-or: Jisung is the color of autumn leaves and sunrise. Minho has a paintbrush on his hand. Also, he is in love
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 9
Kudos: 92
Collections: MINSUNG SEASON: Colourful Autumn 2020





	how many colors are you in one?

**Author's Note:**

> this is my entry for the COLORFUL AUTUMN: MinsungSeason Fic Fest :D the mods are so kind and considerate !! i appreciate your efforts :)
> 
> anyways,, I chose the color orange because... a u t u m n. OH this was also inspired by We Fell in Love in October by Girl in Red (lesbian rights). I wanna thank my wonderful beta, Adin (@SmithEAdin on twitter) for putting up with me :(( without them, this fic would have been a mess. check out her fics, too! 
> 
> Also, this is my first time writing a fic ddfkjhdfdkjf. so if there are many mistakes here, bear with me ;-; English is not my first language ;-; oh I almost forgot to say this,, FEEDBACKS ARE APPRECIATED :(( bc as i said, this is the first fic I have ever written. so uhh,, enjoy reading :D

“It will be interesting!” Minho still recalls his professor’s word. He seemed excited- too excited, that Minho became intrigued about the task they would be working on. “You need to associate a color,” he trailed, and Minho’s mind immediately drifted away with countless ideas.

Blue? He already had an idea in his head, and it was in the form of a not-so-important person surfing the tides on the beach during summertime.

Maybe yellow? A painting with rows of yellow daisies in a field seemed interesting. Maybe it will be the same field he had been dreaming about on going to picnic dates with someone. But he will not admit that.

Or maybe pink? The color of the begonias he had been buying at their local flower shop and gifting it to his mother during special occasions. An artwork with begonias in a flower vase seemed tempting.

A wave of excitement rushed to his body, and he felt jittery because it was the first time he did not loathe their upcoming tasks. Rather, it was the opposite.

Minho was not really a creative person, per se. He does not wake up one day and decide to experiment on different styles. He was not keen on using different styles and strokes when painting; he just stuck to a certain style because… it had to be that way.

Ideas are difficult to put together in his mind, and he always needs to have a variety of references to be able to complete an artwork. But when a particular task piques his interests, he swears that he will have never-ending ideas on how and what to do with it. 

Growing up, Minho was completely unfunctional when forced to do a painting with no reference. He hated the way that he was always left behind and was just about to start on his work, but his classmates seemed to be halfway, maybe almost done with theirs.

“... to your muse.” Minho’s head snapped up, he was distracted thinking about his ideas to the point that he was not able to process, nor hear his professor’s previous words.

To your muse. Minho had been repeating it to himself, reassuring himself that what he heard was correct. To a muse, my muse… a muse… muse.

Listen. For the entire 8 years of journey of painting in Minho’s life, for once he did not have a muse. An official muse, at least. He had always relied on the pictures on the internet of his favorite artists. Sometimes, he had drawn his favorite idols or fictional characters for references, but he did not have a person who was willing to be his official muse. Exclusive only for him. 

He won’t admit it, but sometimes (often times) when he is painting, his mind always drifts to an image of a boy with chubby cheeks, round and curious eyes, fluffy hair, front crooked teeth, and a body so divine that he did not have a choice but to worship him.

Yes, he felt guilty for drawing him without his permission but, You could use me as your reference however and whenever you want, hyung, and maybe his guilt had been reduced.

Which led him into thinking, “What color should I associate Jisung with?” He did not even think twice on making him as his muse.

He had been assigned to write an essay about colors of a person. There are colors in which a person is connected to, said his professor and Minho of course, chose Jisung, his friend for over 8 years now (and counting, hopefully) as his muse. 

There are days when he feels that Jisung is associated with the color of the lemonade they drink by the sidewalk after riding a bike on a hot summer day. Weird, he knows. Jisung reminds him of the striking rays of the sun on their summer vacation, of the yellow pool noodle they both own (“I saw a stall that offers a discount for pool noodles. 2 for only 3 bucks, yay or nay?” “... It’s winter, hyung”), and of the yellow daffodils Jisung gifted Minho for his 20th birthday, at 1:09 a.m. 

_

“What would you say if I told you that I would give you flowers as a gift?,” Jisung said, with a hopeful look in his eyes, the yellow glow of the sun framed his face beautifully as he played with his hair in his left hand.

Weird, Minho thought, as he observed Jisung’s standing frame- he seemed nervous. And why is he tucking his left hand behind him? So weird. “You mean you can't even give me something memorable? A Rolex, perhaps?” 

Minho chuckled internally as he remembered the day when Minho’s auntie came back after her business trip in America and gave his mother an expensive watch. That day, he and Jisung were there, supposedly studying, to witness the scene.

(He could still remember the glimmer in Jisung’s eyes as he watched the golden color of the watch shine when the light hit just right. “When I become a successful musician, I will give your mother a lambo,” Jisung said to Minho.

“Are you trying to compete with my aunt in terms of value?” Minho jokingly shoved his shoulders. “What would you get for yourself, then?” He changed the topic as he was curious about what Jisung would buy for himself.

Minho thought to himself about what Jisung would get, maybe a new laptop? Since he was always complaining about how slow his current one was. Or maybe an SUV, as he remembers Jisung wanting to have a road trip with their friends, and a larger vehicle seems fitting for that kind of adventure. Or maybe a new guitar, as Jisung’s was already 5 years old.

“I would buy as a diamond wedding ring,” Jisung said, followed with a wink.)

Jisung licks his bottom lip, his right hand dropped from ruffling his hair moments ago. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt with it and said, “Hyung, it’s the thought that counts!”. He then gave Minho a sheepish grin.

For being friends with him for almost 8 years (and counting, hopefully), he knows the little habits and mannerisms of Jisung like the back of his hand. The said boy was being nervous.

“You are telling me that- wait a minute, are you implying that I will receive flowers from you? In less than a minute?” Minho’s words got cut off as his eyes trailed behind Jisung’s favorite shirt with a banana print on it (“Did you find the print cute and that’s why you bought it or do you just like bananas in general?” “No lies but I found the banana cute- WAIT A MINUTE. Hyung, are you implying something dirty?”). There is something yellow peeking from behind. 

A petal…?

Jisung seems taken aback, “I am not saying that- that I don’t care for you or your birthday or whatever! It’s- it’s just that, these reminded me of you”. He stretched out his left hand that was behind him earlier, to reveal a bouquet of yellow daffodils.

Minho’s mind visioned the image of Jisung, stealing yellow daffodils off his neighbor’s garden. How he would be focused on picking each delicate piece just to satisfy Minho. He always loved seeing him focused, because of the habit he has of crossing eyes.

Or maybe, Jisung would have walked into a flower shop, with a sheepish smile, asking for a bouquet of yellow daffodils. Maybe, the flower shop owner would ask if it is for his girlfriend. Minho already imagined Jisung turning red from the words. Silly. 

He is such a wimp for Jisung, that every action of his makes him smile, which is why he replied:

“You are such a cheap motherfucker, Sungie. Not even roses, but daffodils, hmm?” Minho tried to act nonchalant and unaffected, but his reddening cheeks said otherwise. He reached out his arms to ruffle Jisung’s hair. “Kidding. Thank you for this gift, I appreciate it. A lot”. 

A whole lot.

To the point that Minho placed them inside the expensive, porcelain vase he begged his mom to let him use it. It was a gift from one of her co-workers, a rich co-worker, in fact. He killed the insects surrounding it, changed the water every now and then, he watered the yellow daffodils every morning while the sun emitted a gentle, yellow glow. Every day, while watering the flower, he would recall how Jisung gave it to him with a fond smile. He was like the warm feeling of the sun, and the bright glow of it.

Everything reminds him of Jisung.

_

Minho was at his apartment. It was a studio-type. It was not that organized, but nor was it too messy. Minho vaguely remembers that time Jisung accompanied him in decorating his apartment. To add more personality in it, Jisung always said while they were at the craft store buying decorations.

His fridge was littered with sticky notes. The notes varied from “Defrost your refrigerator at least twice a week,” to “I threw away the pizza from four days ago,” to “Don’t forget to stock up on water, hyung,” to “I already fed the cats while you were away,” to “I stole your hoodie hehe,” to “Thanks for cheering me up and helping me study for midterms xoxo,” to “I enjoyed the movie night but unfortunately, I have to go. I cooked breakfast xd” to “Take care of yourself for me,” to “Your cats seem to dislike me :/” to “You mean the world to me.”

All of those were written on red sticky notes that Jisung got (stole) from the cafe he was working at. Only a few more notes, and the front of his fridge would be entirely covered. Still, he did not have the heart to remove them.

At his second attempt at thinking of a color, he associated Jisung with red. Yes, the color of passion, desire, and love. Red. Minho felt his face getting warm as he thought about it. He shook his head to remove all the thoughts. 

Maybe the reason why he thought of red is because it reminded him of Jisung’s favorite cherry slushie place they always stopped by during road trips, of the watermelon that drips from his lips to his chin, of the red wine they always drink to at least be healthy.

_

It was midnight. Meaning, it was the perfect time to sleep on your bed and dream about the possibilities of tomorrows. But no, Jisung and Minho somehow made their way into having a late-night drive with no destination. 

Jisung’s energy was still high, and he excitedly talked about dinosaurs, something that he probably told Minho a hundred times already. Still, he never gets tired of it. Minho tries to convince himself that it’s because of the dinosaurs. Totally, he likes dinosaurs.

They stopped by at a convenience store that sells Jisung’s favorite cherry slushies. Minho got himself a carton of milk and they paid at the counter, not missing the cashier’s weird and confused look. Jisung doesn't seem to mind at all, or he just doesn't notice it. Jisung is kind of oblivious sometimes. In many ways. 

“Hyung, do you think it would be bomb if I mixed an energy drink into this slushie?” Jisung perked up with his so-called ‘bomb’ idea he had. He took a sip of his cherry slushie and gave Minho a look. The cashier now had an obvious, judgmental face aimed at them. Minho sometimes wished Jisung learned how to keep his mouth shut during times like this. Now, he just wants to kiss Jisung’s red-stained lips to silence him- no, Minho, that is more embarrassing. 

“It won't be as bomb as ending up in a hospital, I bet.” Minho guided Jisung as they made their exit from the store. The red neon lights from the store’s sign by the door gently hit Jisung’s face. Minho found himself pausing in his tracks just to stare at Jisung. 

The latter sent him a confused look. “What? Do I have something on my face?” Minho is now, at least, slightly more aware. He thinks how he must've looked like a fool, acting like that. 

“I just thought that you reminded me of that one dinosaur you showed me.” Minho, once again, tried to act nonchalant as he stepped inside his Sedan. He fumbled with the keys and revved the engine when he noticed that Jisung was still standing in front of his car. His expression was grumpy, and while clutching his slushie, Minho’s headlight shone against him. Cute, he thought. 

“Idiot, do you want to get run over?” He poked his head out of the window.

Jisung, who still seemed sulky, entered the car, and adjusted his seat belt. Jisung let out a huff and turned in Minho's direction. The young man was entranced by the color of Jisung’s red stained lips (courtesy of his cherry slushie) and found himself only staring at his lips. Jisung, who found a chance to have a revenge for Minho, said “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

Minho, who was now flustered, was unable to utter a single word. He was taken aback. He looked like a gaping fish, trying to speak coherently without stuttering. “No, you- I don’t- We all know that you were the one who wrote a song about how perfect my features are and wanting to kiss them one by one.” Minho let out a triumphant smirk, now reversing the roles.

Now, Jisung was the flustered one. Words couldn't escape out of his red-stained lips. Fool. He is a fool, Minho thought.

As if Minho wasn't one earlier.

_

Not that cursed incident again, Minho sighed to himself. He knows how many nights he had been hunted because of that scene replaying in his mind.

Minho took a trip to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. He leaned over the counter and heaved a sigh. The rim of the cup touched his chapped lips. He took a mental note to always stay hydrated.

The water was cold, the kind that gives you brain freeze. The kind that makes you wince because of the temperature. Yet, he continues to drink from it. He was thirsty, he wants more.

Jisung is somehow like cold water. The feeling of basking in the coldness of the water, as it slides down your throat and settles in your stomach. The feeling of the liquid dripping out of your lips. The breath you release after, fogging the glass. The feeling of wanting more.

Jisung is like water? Blue, perhaps? Maybe yes, maybe no. But Minho’s memory drifted back to the times when they took a visit to the beach after the stressful prelims they had, how the color of the sea reminded him of the boy.

He is the feeling of running towards the shore with arms wide open, welcoming everything. The chilly breeze that brushes against your cheeks. The feeling of the sand under your feet, the grains settling in between your toes. The feeling of the freezing water in contrast to the heat of the sun. 

_

“I am uncertain of the future,” Jisung said wistfully, staring at the horizon as he tucked his knees to his chest. He was still breathless, probably exhausted after chasing Minho in the water. 

“I am too, but that is perfectly normal to feel… I guess?” Minho answered to Jisung, looking at his side profile while the latter nibbled his lips. He was nervous. Minho recalled the times he caught him doing that action out of nervousness. He never changes. “Why did you bring that up, though?”

Jisung shifted from his position to cross his legs. He let the ends of his fingertips feel the soft waves of the sea in front of them. “I am really unsure of what the future may bring, hyung. Maybe, after university, I will go back to Malaysia and pursue music- or not. Or maybe I will move to the city with you. I- I don’t even know why I am bringing this up. Prelims fucked me up badly…” 

It seemed funny though, because the sky above them is blue and azure, as if unaffected by Jisung's mood. They came here to relieve their stress, to celebrate the stressful weeks they had while preparing for prelims, not to bask out of pity and self-reflection. “Just remember that you have me, a constant in your life. Wherever you will be, I will be there. If not, I am here to support you, dude.”

“That… that was so sweet.” Jisung looked at him with wide eyes- his big doe eyes that reflected the gentle wave of the sea. The sea that Jisung is alike with, free and calming. One look, and all the problems you’ve been carrying will be gone.

“... sure, bro.” 

That... that was probably the most romantic reply Minho said. 

An elegant butterfly settled on the ivory seashell near them, its rich blue color captivating their eyes. Jisung’s eyes brightened, and he clapped his hands, like an over-excited kid. “Hyung, look! A butterfly” He pointed to it and poked Minho on his shoulder to gain his attention. “Your attention. On her. Please.”

Minho averted his eyes from Jisung to finally look at said creature. It was pretty- bewitching, even. Its wings flapped elegantly; the color of her bright, blue wings gleamed. It seemed like a rare butterfly they aren't accustomed to see. It was not the normal one they are used to seeing in the garden. It was breathtaking.

But not as breathtaking as the boy beside him. His eyes sparkled as they followed the butterfly, his smile genuine, and he let out a squeal as the blue butterfly landed at the end of his fingertips. Jisung let out words on how the butterfly probably found him cute and that’s why it settled on him. 

He paid the butterfly no mind. He was only focusing on Jisung. On Jisung only. And he wouldn't trade the view in front of him, even if it meant an exchange for the whole sea.

_

Minho rested for a bit, he looked up and just stared at the ceiling. The ceiling had posters of unknown indie bands that Jisung had put up. Minho recalled that time when he was standing on his bed, with an over-excited Jisung on his shoulders, as they stood shakily while sticking up the posters.

He grabbed his blue frozen throw pillow (with the whole cast printed on it) that was gifted by Jisung. It was from his nephew’s 7th birthday party, but he just gave it to Minho for laughs.

The pillow smelled a lot of Jisung’s favorite peach shampoo, the one he always insisted on using. Minho smiled at the thought.

His train of thoughts were cancelled as two people stomped inside his apartment. The other one was wearing something casual, hoodie and sweatpants, in contrast with the person with him who was wearing… a fur coat.

They were laughing together, seemingly forgetting about the presence of Minho. He observed them. The fur coat guy’s features were soft, with a cute dimple on his right cheek. He had a loud laugh, and a tiny accent.

It was Chan. And Changbin. His friends that were supposedly enjoying the movies at the cinema at this time but were now standing in front of him. Their plans must’ve been canceled.

“Why are you here?” Minho asked out of curiosity. “I thought you were about to watch a movie at the cinema?”

Chan shrugged off his coat- his fur coat and replied, “We were late to the movies, so we just had lunch outside.”

They sat beside Minho who was on the couch, Changbin on his left, Chan on his right. Changbin was staring at his painting, with a look on his face. Minho looked at them with a weird look. “Could you please stop staring at my painting?” He had always hated it when people stared at his unfinished and messy painting, even if it was his friends.

“Isn’t that Jisung lmao.” Changbin shifted closer to Minho’s canvas to take a closer look. Minho quickly covered his painting, being careful as the paint was still wet. He was also wearing his favorite striped, green shirt (which was gifted by someone) as of the moment and did not want to get it dirty.

The two men gave him a smile. Which doesn't look like a genuine smile. More like that kind of smile as if they know everything about Minho’s whole existence. Ah. They were teasing him. Minho hates being teased.

“Did you... did you just say ‘lmao’ in real life?”

“There’s no barrier between the internet and real life,” Changbin said.

Minho ignored his friends as he pretended to continue where he had left off. His eyes fell on the slightly melted mint chocolate chip ice cream Chan was. The bright green color stood out.

Jisung is, well, similar to mint chocolate ice cream. He is versatile. There are many kinds of him.

Jisung is minty- similar to spicy. Spicy cold. Why is Minho even writing this? He is unexpected, and surprising. When you indulge the taste of ice cream, expecting it to be sugary, unbeknownst to the fact that there is a hidden mintiness. Jisung leaves an impression. A shocking impression.

Just like the mint chocolate, Jisung stands out.

_

They were at the abandoned field near their university. The overgrown grass reached past their ankles, the crisp air they breathed out was fresh. The many kinds of colorful flowers surrounding them were profoundly beautiful.

They settled at the middle of the field. Jisung crossed his legs and turned to Minho. “Do you think I will pass the showcase audition, hyung?” 

Jisung was always doubtful of himself. He was unaware of the potential he has. And Minho never gets tired of reminding him that he is one of the most, if not the most, talented person in the whole world. 

Music lives within Jisung. His blood is filled with the never-ending passion he has for music. He speaks with much deeper choices of words than the others to the point that it could be lyrics itself. His heart has a steady heartbeat, like the beat of the compositions he made during sleepless nights. His voice itself sounds like lullabies that lull you to sleep no matter what he is singing. His breath is the sonata he improvised from Beethoven and played on the piano at Minho’s childhood home, with the faint glow of the moon illuminating his face.

“I think it’s impossible to be disappointed by The Han Jisung,” Minho said with a fond smile as he stared at Jisung. The gentle breeze made Jisung’s hair messy, the grass danced along with it as well. Jisung reached out for the patch of grass in front of him and played with it. “You are like, the most talented and passionate person I’ve ever met”

Jisung raised his head and met his eyes as he beamed at Minho. He raised his right hand to reveal a four-leaf clover sitting in his palm. “Hyung, do you wanna test your luck?” He twirled the stem of it, which was placed in between his index and thumb.

“I think you should.”

Jisung only let out an exhale and looked at the depth of Minho’s eyes, piercing his soul with his gaze.

_

He took a sip out of his warm coffee, the brown color similar to the fallen autumn leaves outside. It was cold, despite the heat of the fireplace. Autumn has always been like this.  
The flavors of the latte coating his tongue reminded him of the days where Jisung would wake up early in the morning. He would wake up Minho and serve him coffee.

The air was undeniably chilling and seemed that it was carrying some sort of whispered nothings. Maybe if Minho listened properly, he would have heard the underlying sweetness beneath Jisung’s nonchalant words. 

They were at Minho’s apartment, the one closer to their university. It was painted with beige, dark brown, and white. Minho seemed to be the guy that looks like mint is his favorite color, from his phone case, wallet, favorite hoodie, and the pin on his bag. Deep down, it was really brown. Brown made him feel alive (although brown is always deemed as a soulless color). 

Orange was close to his favorite. If brown made him feel alive, orange made him have his first gay awakening about his best friend while they were both playing outside, stepping on the crisp autumn leaves, and the way Jisung’s fluffy hair bounced softly.

To Minho, Jisung is the feeling of warmth in his stomach whenever he drinks hot chocolate during the cold autumn days. He is the feeling of the fleeting joy when they jump into the pile of fallen leaves. 

“Hyung?”

His thoughts got interrupted as Jisung peeked out from Minho’s room as he rubbed his eyes. He was adorably soft looking. He was wearing an orange hoodie that seemed to swallow him, and too-big sweatpants he borrowed from Minho. His hair was unkempt and was sticking out in different directions, Minho found it hard to not coo over it. It seemed like he just woke up.

“Are you baking something?” Jisung said as he gained a little awareness, and he sauntered over to where Minho was. He was wearing those socks they embroidered last year. It was also autumn, and Jisung had an idea to give each other inexpensive, but heartfelt, gifts.

He still remembers the many times Jisung accidentally pricked himself by his needle (and for how many times Jisung let Minho kiss his fingertips to ease the pain), but the outputs they had were worth it. 

Minho’s pair of socks Jisung had embroidered was definitely the reflection of his soul. On his left socks, his 3 cats were there. The first one was Soonie, the one with the orange and white color. Soonie was the first cat he had, and Minho still remembers Jisung accompanying him to the animal shelter the time he had adopted it. The second one was Doongie, who was also orange and white in color. To differentiate Doongie with Soonie, there was an exaggerated white spot on his tummy. The last one, Dori, who was the new addition to their family. Its color was gray-ish. Minho’s mind immediately drifted to when Jisung was accompanying to the shelter again when he adopted Dori. 

On his right socks, there was a lone, falling autumn leaf. The colors of yellow, red, and orange were messily mixed altogether and the memory of Jisung’s sheepish smile as he presented it to Minho, put one on his face as well. 

Jisung’s pair was adorable too. His left sock had a squirrel, with prominent chubby cheeks, resembling Jisung. On his right, there was a single acorn embroidered. 

“Oh, cinnamon rolls! My favorite.” Jisung stood behind Minho, who was in front of the counter. Jisung took out his index finger and dipped into the batter Minho was mixing, and he licked it off. He threw Minho a teasing grin as Minho pretended to be annoyed.

“How dare you bake without me.” Jisung pouted as he rummaged through the ingredients settled atop the counter. 

Minho admits that he was a bit guilty because Jisung was looking forward to spending time with him. But when he entered his room where Jisung was sleeping earlier, looking peaceful and unbothered, he decided he did not have the heart to wake him up. “Figured you were sleeping so I didn’t bother you,” Minho replied as he continued mixing.

“Let me try mixing!” Jisung said excitedly, and Minho passed him the batter without a fight. Jisung grabbed the whisk from Minho’s left hand and started mixing. “You know...” Jisung trailed as he set a stable mixing pattern, “I’m in the mood for hot chocolates.”

Minho let out a scoff as he glanced at the boy whose eyes were trained at the batter. His hair falling so he took the strands and tucked it behind Jisung’s right ear. Maybe it was Minho’s poor vision, but he swore Jisung’s cheek became pink for a second. Minho just pushed the thoughts away.

“We’ll have some while waiting for the cinnamon rolls to bake,” he said as he watched the other boy’s face light up. He seemed too excited for a normal autumn day like this one. Minho observed the boy who was now whisking maybe a little too fast, faster than before. “Be careful to not overmix,” Minho said as he reached out for Jisung’s hand to stop the movements.

Jisung seemed taken aback by Minho’s previous actions, but he tried to not show it as much as possible. He pursed his lips to suppress the smile that was starting to creep onto his face. Jisung kept his head trained to the batter he was mixing, and Minho just kept glancing at him with a sly smile. “I think that is enough.”

Minho grabbed the bowl from Jisung’s hand. “I think you should start heating milk while I mold these.” Jisung happily obliged and went to the cabinets to reach for the saucepans. He set them atop the stove and went to the fridge.

He returned with a bottle of milk and poured it on the saucepan. He leaned against the counter and the whole apartment was filled with a quiet, but cozy atmosphere. It remained like that until Minho spoke. “I like your hoodie.” He inspected Jisung. “I wonder where you got that from.”

Jisung was flushed as he answered, “It’s yours, silly.” He looked down to play with his sweater paws which made him look tinier than before. The hoodie was orange, no, a bright orange. It was the color of clementines, pumpkins, marigolds, or autumn leaves- but more intense. It’s as if you stepped in a room wearing that hoodie, all eyes would stare at you.

It reminded him of Minho. Ironically, the hoodie and original hoodie owner are very alike in some ways. Jisung won’t deny it but Minho could really steal the spotlight whenever and wherever. Sometimes, he would just go out wearing casual fits like his signature black hoodie and gray sweatpants, but he will still make the attention of the people around him to focus on him.

“You look better in it,” said Minho, with an overly flirtatious smirk that made Jisung burst out in laughter. “Why don't you build our fort as I prepare the hot chocolate?” Minho suggested, and Jisung easily complied.

“Oh, I want mine to have extra marshmallows!” Jisung said while at the end of the hallway, his voice became slightly inaudible because of the distance, yet Minho heard and understood it.

He let out a nod, unaware of the fact that Jisung was not even looking.

Jisung ran to Minho’s room, the soft pit-a-pat of his socked feet against the hardwood of his apartment made him realize how domestic this situation was. Yeah. Just two bros. Who were friends for almost 8 years. Hanging out together on a cold day in autumn. And your bro borrows your oversized hoodie and sweatpants, while you two are baking, and will eventually talk about life in front of the fireplace, sipping on your hot chocolates, as you both lie down on the fort you made. Yeah. Bros. Haha. 

Minho laid the cinnamon rolls on the baking tray and turned on the oven. While waiting for Jisung, he prepared the hot chocolate with extra marshmallows for him, of course. 

He poured it over their mugs, their matching mugs. The ones that they bought from the mall when Jisung initiated to buy plants to enhance the interior of Minho’s apartment. Jisung’s mug was colored orange, with the image of falling autumn leaves at the center. On the other side, Minho’s mug had the same design, but his mug was colored with red. They won’t admit that they got it 40% off because it was originally discounted for couples, hence the matching theme it has.

Jisung returned shortly after, with piles of blankets and mountains of pillows. The blankets were hanging dangerously from his arms to the ground, and it had been a miracle he hadn't tripped yet. The pillows were at the brink of falling off his enclosed arms. And the cutest thing, a mop of messy and fluffy hair was peeking in between the pillows. 

Minho smiled fondly as he strode towards Jisung, helping him carry the things. They went to where the couch was and started to build the fort. The fireplace was emitting warmth for the both of them. The sound of the roaring blaze, as branches and twigs were burning, set a relaxing ambience.

“Wait for me, I will get our hot chocolates,” Minho said and gave Jisung a pat on the back. The journey to the kitchen, Minho’s mind was filled with worry and doubt. Originally, Minho had invited Jisung because of the plan. It was Changbin’s idea.

For the past eight years, his best friend had always been Jisung. They met through their mutual friend, Felix, who was Minho’s cousin and Jisung’s seatmate. They did not click the first time they had met, but they clicked through their similar interests- comics and their favorite rock band. 

During that time, Minho discovered his passion for arts. He started with only simple doodles and easy painting. The first time Jisung saw Minho painting, they were in Minho’s room. Jisung walked into Minho’s room, the other boy who was in the middle of painting something that looked like a scenery. He had tried to hide it from the eyes of the curious boy. In the end, Minho had company in the figure of a squirrel-like boy with a gaping mouth and curious eyes.

2 years into their friendship, they had already gravitated towards each other. Their friends had been calling them, “soulmates” and “husbands” in a teasing manner (and in a petty manner by Felix). 

4 years into their friendship, they had already graduated from high school. Jisung was one year behind Minho. Jisung was pursuing business, while Minho pursued arts. Every other day, they would have a sleepover at Minho’s studio apartment. Other times, Jisung would just show up suddenly, complaining about their dorm’s faulty ventilator.

6 years into their friendship, Minho started to look at Jisung in a different way. He would glance at him from time to time and would still find him gorgeous even if he was only at his utmost vulnerable state. He found himself painting a person, and the final output will be the image of a boy with squirrel-like cheeks, unintentionally. He found himself listening to love songs and thinking about him. Consistently, every morning, he would go to the nearest cafe and buy a slice of cheesecake and an iced americano to give it to him after his 8 a.m classes. 

8 years into their friendship, Minho thinks today is the right time to confess his profound adoration for Jisung.

He poured the milk into their mugs and mixed it with cocoa. He preferred his to be slightly bland, the taste of the cocoa overpowering. On the other hand, Jisung preferred his to be as sweet as possible. He likes it with too much milk, and with too many marshmallows. Sometimes, he would go overboard with sprinkles when they have supplies.

Minho smiled to himself. Jisung was just full of sweetness.

He returned to Jisung, who was picking the movie for the night. The room’s source of light was only from his laptop and the fireplace to their right side, near the window. He noticed the trees outside were swaying with crisp, orange leaves falling one by one. It was foggy, but the stars were visible. The streets were not as busy compared to the warmer nights before. 

He let out a sound to make his presence noticed. Jisung looked up and gave him a gentle smile. He made a room for Minho and patted the space beside him afterwards. Minho sat beside him and buried himself under the blankets.

Minho noticed that Jisung was already 3 minutes into the movie, “Were you starting without me?” He teased the boy. He knew that a few minutes won’t make a difference, he just wanted to lighten the atmosphere. 

“Those were only the starting credits, hyung.” Jisung playfully nudged Minho’s shoulders and the latter pretended to be hurt.

They fell into a comfortable silence. They commented about the movie from time to time. This situation is awfully too familiar and too domestic. Way back into their friendship, a movie night had always been a staple- but tonight, it feels oddly different. 

For some reasons, Minho was not able to concentrate on the film. He observed his surroundings. The baby blue sweater he was wearing was knitted by his grandma. It was gifted to him during the days when he went home to celebrate the holidays with his family. He had also noticed his curtain that had a string of thread at the end. His lamp glowed a yellow-ish light, something alike with the moon’s glow. His mirror was littered with various stickers and notes, his dirty socks had been scattered on the floor, the wooden bookshelf he had from his freshman year up to now-

The bookshelf.

His whole body tensed when he became aware of the reason why he had invited Jisung tonight. He did not know how to bring up that topic, and he did not know how to initiate a conversation due to his nervousness.

He stole a glance at the boy on his right, who seemed to enjoy the movie, unlike him. His mind was filled with doubt, hesitation, and uncertainty. Maybe it was because he was too tensed or pressured, but he found himself saying, “H-hey, I have something to show you.”

Jisung turned to him, looking confused. He reached out for his laptop and paused the movie. “Sorry?” Maybe he had felt the awkward tension that was beginning to bleed around them, that’s why he sat up straight.

Minho repeated, “I have something to show you.” He slowly brought up his hand and scratched his head. He was now too conscious of his movements as if a single move would ruin everything. “I actually forgot about it this morning,” Minho added.

“Is it a surprise?” Jisung let out a playful smile, and suddenly, the atmosphere was a little less awkward than before. 

Minho let out a breathy giggle. Jisung’s eyes were now trained at him, observing his every move. He stood up cautiously, careful to not hit the pillows and mess up their fort. He turned around to go to the direction of the bookshelf.

Every step he made; a question was made. What would his initial reaction be? Will he like it? Should I hope for a worst-case scenario?

Jisung is not the kind of man to reject someone harshly. Rather, he would reject someone through gentle words, and he would be the type to get them coffee the next day. Still, he would still hope for the worst-case scenario, because as Jisung has always said, if you expect worst-case scenarios repeatedly, they will no longer be worst-case scenarios.

Minho stood on the tip of his toes, reaching for the canvas he hid there. It was lightweight, but somehow it felt heavy because of the situation they were in. His fingertips traced the edges of it, having second thoughts.

It was now or never.

He turned to Jisung, who was sitting crossed legged in the fort. He looked intrigued, and at the same time, hopeful. 

Minho took prideful strides towards Jisung. His heart raced quickly. His palms were sweaty. His legs were shaky. He stood in front of Jisung, who was looking up to him.

“W-what’s that?” Jisung said with a shaky voice. His calm demeanor earlier was affected by Minho’s anxiousness. He was fiddling with his sweater paws, fingers shaky as well.

Minho’s lips quivered, finding it hard to find the words he meant to say. Instead, he shoved the canvas he was holding into Jisung’s arms. Jisung, who was taken aback, cautiously flipped the canvas to take a look.

There, in the canvas, was the painting of the boy with a bright orange hoodie, and pastel orange socks. It was Jisung. He was sitting by the window, a book in his left hand. The other hand was occupied, it was petting a cat whose color is orange. The setting was somewhere cozy. Maybe a cottage in the middle of the forest. It was autumn, judging by the view outside the window. Jisung lightly traced the artwork, careful not to smudge the paint. 

At the bottom left of the painting, there was written to my home, Jisungie.  
The boy was shocked at the sudden confession. He was not expecting this tonight. Without words, he grabbed the shirt of Minho who was standing in front of him.

They were now face to face, both breathless. “H-hi,” Jisung dazedly stuttered. Minho was now sitting beside him, but still facing each other. “I-I… Uhm. I was-” Jisung stumbled through his words. He was tense about the sudden confession Minho had. He was fiddling with his nails, seemingly absorbed. It was one of his coping mechanisms whenever he experiences a wave of nervousness.

“Hey, look at me,” Minho said with a soothing voice. 

Jisung looked up, staring at the depth of Minho’s eyes. He always had a thing for Minho’s eyes. They were round, and dark. It’s like there’s a spell in them. The longer you stare at it, you will get hypnotized. It will suck you into his deep abyss.

Jisung blinks, one. He was now looking straight at Minho, and he was certain that there was a different spark in his eyes. Minho shifted from his position, and propped his hand on his chin, looking directly at Jisung, as if he was begging for attention.

Jisung blinks, two. He seems dazed, and he probably does not have the will to move. His eyes must’ve been strained, Minho thought, as he saw a slight reddening of Jisung’s eyes. Not noticeable, but if you looked closely and long enough into his eyes, you would see it. You will see everything.

Jisung blinks, three. His eyes seemed to be teary, Minho noted to himself. The tears reflected the light of the moon outside, making his eyes impossible to not dwell on. Minho can count every planet, star, and meteor in Jisung’s eyes as he stares at him. He could probably explore the whole galaxy, milky way, and beyond the universe. 

Jisung blinks, four. Jisung finally looked at Minho. His eyes boring holes into his own. There was something that made Minho feel electrocuted by his stare. Minho could feel his heart being broken into pieces to finally let out the words he had failed to say, the words he wanted to say. The broken pieces gather into Jisung’s heart, enclosing it, to let him feel his feelings, and to have a heart as one. 

Jisung blinks, five. He moved from his previous position unsteadily, as he quickly cupped Minho’s cheeks, his other arm slung onto his shoulder. Minho felt himself get closer to his face, now close enough to count his eyelashes one by one, and to make a constellation out of Jisung’s tiny and noticeable moles. 

He looked at him straight in the eye. Jisung was so gorgeous when the glow of the moon framed his face perfectly. Jisung sometimes expressed fascination on how Minho’s face is like a statue of a Greek God. Sharp nose, sharp cheekbones, and a sharp stare. He was all sharp to the edges. Minho thinks he could not compete with Jisung. Round, curious eyes, a dainty nose, and a heart-shaped lips which revealed a heart-shaped smile. He was all soft on the edges, just like him. Soft and gentle. Soft and beautiful. 

They are coming closer. The proximity makes the both of them warm and giddy. Minho raised his left hand to cup Jisung’s cheeks, bringing him closer. Both sides are anticipating the feeling of their lips colliding. Hearts racing faster, they moved closer and closer, until they can feel the other person’s breath on their lips, heads tilting to the side, eyes closing, just a little bit more and-

“Oh, the cinnamon rolls are burning!”

Minho quickly opened his eyes, surprised by the sudden outburst. He turned around to see Jisung, who was running frantically to the kitchen, until he stopped. Halfway through the door, Jisung turned around, head cranking to the side, “Can… can we continue this later, hyung?”

Minho smiled softly. "We better, or I'll have an unrequited love and burnt cinnamon rolls."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading until the end :(( that means a lot to me :(( don't forget to leave a feedback !!
> 
> check out the works of others! I am not yet finished reading the fics for day one but I'm pretty sure that they will be entertaining :D again, to the mods and to my lovely beta reader, thank you so much!
> 
> lastly, let's be friends! my twitter accounts are @Iightrains and @sungshroom :D I don't bite :<<


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